Firebender
by True Heaven
Summary: And there are times he's convinced she's a firebender.


Because I ship these two so hard. They need to be a thing.

**Disclaimer: I no own LoK.**

_-Ria_

* * *

"_And there are times he's convinced she's a firebender."_

* * *

He had met her in the heat of battle, with the adrenaline pumping through his veins, his heart pounding furiously within his ribcage, and the sounds of war ringing in his ears. He sees her off in the distance, fighting alongside her earthbending friend, recognizing her strikingly long, dark hair. The general of the United Forces lets loose a stream of fire from his palms, bringing down the rest of his opponents in a flash of red, orange, and yellow. Through the corner of his eye, he sees the young woman, her back turned, knocking out an assailant, sparks of lightning erupting from her right hand. A firebender?

He quickly scans the area of any impending danger before making his way towards her.

"Miss," he addresses, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Are you alright?"

The young woman turns and Iroh is hit by the deep green of her eyes. He notices how she powers down the electric glove she bears on her right hand before giving him a smile.

"Yes, thank you." With a puff a breath to clear the hair from her face, she departs to check on Bolin.

She was no firebender, but the general feels a slight warmth reach his cheeks and an electric current frazzle his brain.

What were they doing here again? It seemed his wits had escaped him.

* * *

The jail cell is cold and dank and to be honest, he stopped being able to feel his butt about half an hour ago. There is a dull pain on his bandaged left arm and he feels the ragged, tired breaths of Bolin at his back. A little ways away from him sits the young woman, hair draped over her face. He wonders if she's cold as well, hoping he might be able to warm the jail cell for the three of them even by a little. But alas, he finds himself too tired to call his fire.

There are footsteps echoing down the hall that halt when a middle-aged man stops before their prison.

"Asami," he says, clutching the bars of the jail cell.

She looks up, deep green eyes penetrating. They throw words around, accusations are made, and by the end of it, those calm eyes have turned furious. Her father departs, leaving his daughter on the ground, eyes still blazing with all the drive and will of a fighter.

Iroh swears he can feel the heat that seems to emanate from her, as though she were a torch herself. He wonders if the girl has Fire Nation blood coursing through her veins.

But the general knew the young woman didn't need to be a bender to burn her way through anything.

* * *

They celebrate victory with jovial laughter, good company, food, and drink. Iroh has a wine glass poised between his fingers, slight smile on his lips. He feels the comforting warmth of the liquid as it hits the back of his throat, when he notices that Asami has found her way to his side. She greets him, he greets back.

The two are locked in amiable conversation. She finds his bending impeccable (she's a pro-bending fan), and he asks her about her company (cue anecdote of how he became a flying ace in fifteen minutes).

He finds that her demeanor is still warm, despite losing her boyfriend, her pride, and her father all in one go. He respects her; it must not have been easy.

And despite himself, he feels warm too. Warm and even a bit light-headed as he laughs and talks with her.

He takes another sip of his drink. Iroh is sure that it isn't _just_ the wine.

* * *

The general traverses the Future Industries warehouse, his young guide leading him a few paces ahead. She excitedly points out her new creations – robots, heavy-duty vehicles, new airplane models, and sleek cars.

It is the latter that grabs his attention and Asami notices.

"Would you like to test drive one?" she asks, jingling a set of keys in front of his face. He readily accepts and the two climb into a vehicle of his choice.

She walks him through standard safety procedures and the basics of operation. When she gets to the part about the three pedals at his feet, she places a hand on his knee and leans in his direction for a better view.

Her touch is like fire, burning him so suddenly he floors the gas harder than he thought and sends them flying forward. His heart is racing, and he's not sure where the pavement ends, but he grabs the wheel and slams the brakes. The vehicle screeches to a halt, leaving swirling tire skids and the smell of burnt rubber in its wake. The pair sit in stunned silence before breaking out into smiles and fits of laughter.

She smirks after regaining her breath and assures him that it's only his first time, that she had done much worse when she first stepped behind the wheel. Somehow he's not so sure she's telling the truth, but it doesn't matter.

He assures himself that he would get better.

Then he remembers her hand on his knee, how she scorched him with no effort. And that there are times he's convinced she's a firebender.

* * *

They're sitting in his drawing room in the Fire Nation palace. She's visiting for some weeks on company related matters while he prepares new training regiments for the fresh recruits. She has stacks of blueprints and business charts by her, while he has a map and status reports by his side.

A pot of jasmine tea sits steaming between them as they work. He keeps it warm for them, not minding the extra effort it requires of him.

They scribble and drink tea late into the night until Asami has fallen asleep before him, head resting on her arms and blueprints. For a moment, it is all Iroh can do but silently muse over the young woman and how fast they had become friends. He sees the ink stains on her fingers and fights the urge to reach across the table with his own to clean them off.

He keeps his stance, chin resting on his folded hands and listening to the tick of the clock on the wall. It isn't until he sighs that he realizes he had been holding in his breath. As it escapes his lips, the candle on the table burns intensely, before flickering back to its calm light. Iroh raises an eyebrow before his gold irises rest on his companion before him.

He watches as the light from the fire illuminates her hair with a burning gold tint.

* * *

The man paces one end of the sparring room, absentmindedly toying with a flame in his open palm. On the other end is the United Forces technology and transport vehicle supplier, gathering her dark hair into a high ponytail. He feels his lips pull up into a small smile as she adjusts the UF uniform she now dons – in fact, one very similar to his.

They step into the centre of the arena, eyes locked, before he asks, "Ready?"

Her response is a cheeky cock of her head to one side and a challenging wink.

The scene is a short flurry of hits and blocks until Asami has the general's wrist in a vice grip, twists behind him, and forces him to his knees. Placing a foot on his arm socket, she breathlessly announces, "One." Iroh remembers why he had asked her to help train his units in hand-to-hand combat.

Their spar continues, the pair neck-and-neck, tied with four apiece before their breathing becomes labored and their movements turn sluggish. When she swerves too far to the right to avoid his assault, he swoops in, knocking her legs from under her. The man cushions her head from impact, but not before she is pinned to the matted floor, their noses inches apart. "Five," he states.

Neither fighter makes a move.

It is not until moments later, when their breathing had synced and the old clock down the hall chimed thrice that they jumped away from each other, flabbergasted and stuttering embarrassed words of apology. Iroh feels the heat rise to his face as he offers a hand to Asami. His heart is still racing as he opens the door for her, bowing slightly as she walks past him, eyes glued to the floor in her flustered state. His golden eyes catch sight of the pink hue that lightly stains her cheeks before he turns and follows her down the hall.

_Firebender,_ he smirks.

He's convinced.


End file.
